


Inner Strength

by eosrealis (Aurorealis)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF fiddleford, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, M/M, Mystery Trio, mullet stanley pines, strong fiddleford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurorealis/pseuds/eosrealis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford is stronger than he looks. By a long shot. Stanley and Stanford both make false assumptions.</p><p>Stanley at least, is happy to be proven wrong.</p><p>Mystery trio AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inner Strength

**Author's Note:**

> All you really need to know is that I picture the Mystery trio happening because Ford called for Stan to help with the portal, roughly a year earlier. So it's still mullet Stan who's been banned from most states, except they've now made up kind of, or at least are doing much better. 
> 
> Enjoy this dumb headcanon of the tiniest nerd being the strongest of the trio. And also a hint of fiddlestan pre-slash. Emphasis on the "pre".

“We...” A man huffed, “We made it.” One six fingered hand grasped a waterlogged notepad tightly. The other braced against the fresh wreckage of a rowboat. 

“Never again, Stanford. You hear me? I told ya, I told ya that was out of our league! Back me up here, Stanley!” A shorter man, looking entirely different from his two companions and entirely fed up, tried to wring the lake water from his hair. 

“Yeah okay, I'm with Fids. That was crazy, Ford. We ain't doin' that again.” A wider man with longer hair dragged himself onto shore last, a 10-digit counterpart to his twin. 

“Yes, that was, that was more harrowing than I originally imagined. Luckily, I have all of the information I need for now right here!” Stanford Pines waved the wet notebook in the air. “Aagh, my notes!” He cradled the dripping paper. 

“F-for now? For nothing, Stanford!” Fiddleford Mcgucket felt like he should be in hysterics right now, but after all of the times something similar had happened, he could only dredge up indignance and self righteousness. Not even disbelief, not really. 

“But, a living island, Fids! We haven't seen anything like it!” Stanford had sparkles in his eyes.

His twin, Stanley Pines, was less than amused. “Ford, it tried to eat us. And came close enough I could hear the wind whistling through its teeth. No one is antagonizing the living island again, no matter how little of those notes get saved.”

“But Lee-” He shut up at his twin's suddenly stubborn look. “Fine, okay, mother.” Stanley scowled at the comment.

“Stanford, no, Lee is right. This was worse than the Gremoblins. Now let's just get to the shack and then we can sleep off this near death experience.”

Stanford sighed. “Alright, alright. I apologize for things getting out of hand.” He took a deep breath and stepped away from the wreckage. “Ugh, I may have bruised my hip. Did you have to grab me so hard, Lee?”

“Seeing as I was grabbing you in order to fling you to safety? Yeah, I did.” Stanley's quip was easy and swift. Less so was his halting steps onto dry land. 

“Stanley, are you alright?” Fiddleford was quick to notice everything, especially when it came to his two friends. “Your leg?” Stanley's left leg seemed to limp slightly, though the man himself tried to mask it. 

“What? Like sixer said, it's just a bit of bruising, hazards of adventure and all that.” He stood squarely to prove his point and winced visibly. 

Stanford, for once, had a look of real remorse about him. “Oh, Lee, I'm so sorry. You threw the both of us off the boat, I didn't even think to ask- did you sprain something? Break something?” He stumbled closer, but Stanley waved him off.

“It's fine I tell ya! I've had far worse, you know.” Stanford was hesitant, but as always quickly backed off at references to Stanley's past. There were some things that needed time to heal.

“Look Stanley, I know that. But you don't have to have it bad now. Just let me check you over.”

“No way Poindexter,” Stanley had that mulish expression that Fiddleford was quick becoming used to. “I know what I'm dealing with, and I say I'm fine. Stop fretting.”

Stanford scowled. “I am not fretting, I'm trying to be a decent brother by making sure you're alright.” And then he froze. Stanley's expression shuttered away, his lips in a thin line. Yet more accidental references to what Fiddleford thought of as “the forbidden years”. Any mention could get the twins to either wall up or explode.

Fiddleford of course had no such familial hangups, having met Stanley for the first time as he now was, well into adulthood and with the dubious experience of being a drifter. Truthfully though, Stanley had cleaned up quite a bit in the short time Fiddleford knew him. Short time as it was, he knew just how to derail the twin's situation. Fiddleford marched over to Stanley and promptly gave him a harsh shove. Stanley went down with an undignified and pained yelp.

“Fiddleford!” Stanford gasped, affronted.

“The hell was that for, nerd?” Stanley groaned from his back, lying in the sand. 

“You're both stubborn idiots and I don't have the patience for this right now. Stanley, if you can stand up, then you're fine. But I know a fractured leg when I see one, and I highly doubt you can take two steps, never mind the entire walk to the shack.”

Stanley shot Fiddleford a mutinous glare and tried to stand up anyways. He made it into a sitting position in obviously masked pain, and even got his good leg under him before collapsing the second any weight was pushed to the injury. “Ow, why'd'ya have to make it harder?” 

Fiddleford gave a loud sigh even as Stanford crouched nervously by his twin, hands hovering with the desire to act but not the know-how. “That there's a bruised rib too, at the very least. You don't have to pretend you're fine all the time, you moron.” 

Stanley stuck his tongue out. “Sure I do, otherwise who else will be taking care of you nerds when you're pretending to be smart all the time?”

“We do not 'pretend' to be smart!” Stanford paused in his nervous worry enough to get affronted. 

“Well I'm not 'pretending' to be fine. I'll just sleep it off and be right as rain.”

“Oh my god Stanley, you can't 'just sleep off' broken bones.” 

“Watch me.”

“Enough, boys!” Fiddleford clapped his hands once. “We need to get to the shack so that we can get the car to bring Stanley to the hospital.” He shot Stanley a quelling glare before he could be interrupted with protests of being 'just fine'. “That is not under negotiation. But that being said, we do have to get to a vehicle, and Stanley can not walk.”

Finally, Stanford caught on to Fiddleford's thoughts and began planning. “That's.. neither of us have the strength. A stretcher, you think? Carry him to the road, then have someone retrieve the car? That'll take longer but..”

Fiddleford thought about it too. But the truth was, there wasn't much they could use to carry Stanley. The boat was well and truly smashed, the pieces too small to fashion much of anything. There weren't exactly vines or anything to make a stretcher out of either. And they had trekked through the trails created in the more supernatural part of the forest to get to this end of the lake. Fiddleford sighed. There was one thing he could do, though it would be incredibly awkward. However, getting Stanley to a car and therefore to the hospital was more important.

“I'll just carry him.” Fiddleford interrupted Stanford's musings. Both of them immediately halted their actions in order to stare blankly back at him.

“You'll what?” They spoke in rare unison. Fiddleford had a right mind to be offended by the sheer disbelief in both brothers' tones. 

“I will carry Stanley. We can walk along the shoreline instead, we're closer to the fishing docks than the shack. Someone will give us a ride.”

“Haha, good one Fids!” Stanley was outright dismissive.

“I don't know about that, Fiddleford. Stanley is quite big, and of course heavy. I wouldn't want you to overexert yourself..” And there Stanford was being just as dismissive, if a bit more polite. Those two were more alike in behaviour than Fiddleford expected they would ever admit. 

“I wouldn't offer if I couldn't make good. I know I'm short-” 

Stanley snorted. “That's an understatement.” Stanford shot his twin a glare which went ignored.

Fiddleford gave them both a firm look. “I know I'm short, but I am stronger than I look. I do have relative experience doing heavy lifting.”

“Experience when? Where? I'm pretty sure I lift everything heavier than a notebook around here.” Of course Stanley couldn't help but poke fun. Did he ever take anything seriously?

“I, well, I guess if you say so I have to believe you,” Stanford started. Fiddleford avoided scrunching his face at the obvious note of disbelief in a statement about believing in him. “But, rather, it is my fault Stanley got hurt. If anyone should be carrying him, it should be me.”

Now Fiddleford did laugh. “Stanford, I've seen you lose your breath carrying my laptop up a flight of stairs! You couldn't even lift my bicycle into the car, Stanley had to help.”

As Stanford flushed in embarrassment, Stanley made a sound of acknowledgment. “True, that was pretty funny. But Fids, I don't think I've ever seen you do better. I mean, look at ya! You're scrawnier than a flagpole and a full head shorter than anyone I know!”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes, ignoring Stanford's petulant comment;“Your laptop IS heavy, and bikes are hard to hold!” .This argument was going nowhere and Fiddleford knew just how to end it, as he had been forced to learn how to end arguments between the Pines twins. 

“Stanley, get a good grip on my shoulders, why don't you.” And with that, Fiddleford crouched down and placed his back against Stanley. Still scoffing, Stanley obliged and practically engulfed Fiddleford's shoulders in his larger hands. Fiddleford bent and hooked his arms around Stanley's thighs, pushing all of the weight from his back into his legs. In one sure movement, Fiddleford hefted Stanley into the air and hitched him up onto his back, eliciting a quiet yelp of pain as Stanley's leg was jostled. 

“Now, are we ready to get moving or what?” Fiddleford took a deep centering breath. It would be a lie to say that Stanley's weight was nothing, but it would also be a lie to say he couldn't handle it. He just had to be slow and steady.

“Wait, what?” Stanford gaped.

“Holy shit, nerd. I wanna say you've been doing steroids, but I can feel your muscles as missing as ever.” Stanley's voice came startlingly loud, as close to Fiddleford's ears as it was. 

“You two are unbelievable. I told ya I did heavy lifting back home. What do you think Hillbilly even means?”

“It's a colloquial term referring to a stereotype about people who live in the prairies and mid-west country. It refers to commonly thought of behaviours and attitudes connected to those rural regions.” Stanford recited. “What does that have to do with this?”

Fiddleford shook his head and started walking. The ground pushed against him with much more strength now that his weight was more than doubled, and Fiddleford took extra note to move his limbs and back carefully. It wouldn't do to twist or sprain something now. “It has to do with my Uncle owning a family farm and us kids working there during the Summer. I can forgive Stanley for this one, but I must have told you a million stories between here and college about working on the farm. It wasn't easy labour, you know.”

Stanford stumbled to keep pace with the sudden movement. “Of course I remember that. I just don't recall you ever telling me a story that would explain being able to carry an over 200 pound adult. You simply don't have the muscle mass!”

“What, you jealous Ford? Fids has the brains and the brawn, apparently.” And then Fiddleford felt Stanley's hands squeeze against his shoulders and arms. “Seriously though, you're a walking toothpick.” 

“Look,” Fiddleford admonished. “My family's always been wiry. We can get strong but we don't get wide. And working on the farm, I had to learn how to lift things. Some of it's technique, some of it's a natural tendency for dense muscles.” It was surprisingly fun to teach the Pines a lesson in underestimating ones friends, especially as Fiddleford continued to stomp along the shoreline carrying an injured Stanley. Not that Fiddleford was happy to see Stanley hurt, of course. He'd be having another word with Stanford about that for sure.

“What were you lifting? Cows?” Stanford gave another disbelieving comment even as he continued to be surprised that Fiddleford hadn't collapsed from exertion. 

“I resent that!” Stanley nearly shouted into Fiddleford's ear, causing him to wince. 

“We did not lift cows. Though, there was that one time with the cow in early labour... though the truck was only on the other side of the field, and I had some cousins to help.”

The conversation lulled after that. Fiddleford was sure to take a few breaks so that his breath didn't fall short too soon, though he did not release Stanley from his back, as that would only hurt the leg and rib injuries more. 

Finally, they got to the fishing docks where thankfully Manly Dan had his big pickup truck. Dan was notably younger than all three of them, only just into his twenties, but he'd already well earned his nickname. It took the giant man only a few short seconds seconds to pick up both Fiddleford and Stanley and dump them in the bed of the truck. Stanford barely had time to scramble into the passenger seat of the cab before they were tearing off. 

The ride to the hospital was short, but it felt much longer. Perhaps it was the fact that Stanley was giving Fiddleford an almost unnatural stare. And he wouldn't look away. Fiddleford tried to settle into a stern look, but he couldn't help but be embarrassed now that his not-really-a-secret was out and his short heroics were over. 

The truck came to a screeching halt at the gravity falls clinic, and Stanley snorted in both pain and amusement as they were both thrown forwards against the cab of the truck. Inside the cab, Stanford shouted as he nearly brained himself against the dashboard. 

Fiddleford wheezed as Stanley elbowed him in the gut in an attempt to separate the tangle of limbs they ended up in. “Ah, sorry Fids.” He apologized instinctively. And then he paused. “Then again, s'not like I have to worry about crushing you anymore, right? You can take it.” All the same, Stanley lifted himself up carefully, favouring his injuries. 

Trying not to look too ruffled by the close proximity, Fiddleford did the same. “That being said, I still don't prefer that sort of thing if it can be avoided. I'm an engineer, not a boxer.”

“That's true.” Stanley grinned widely, a light blush colouring his cheeks. “But that was really, really somethin'. You're really somethin', Fiddleford.” 

What could someone say to that, but freeze and stutter?“N-no, no more than I ever was. I mean, er, you were the one who threw both of us to safety.” Fiddleford smoothed his shirt, nervous at the praise and the warm feeling it elicited. 

“And you carried me to safety, through at least a mile of shoreline.” And then Stanley's blinding grin lowered. “I'm sorry for teasin' ya. I just mean to have fun, but I doubted you. You aren't the type to gloat about stuff ya can't do though, that's me.”

The apology also felt warm. Fiddleford wanted to wave it off, to explain that it was Fiddleford's own fault that everything about him screamed weak and helpless and fretful. And it wasn't like being able to lift more than his weight changed anything fundamental. Fiddleford was still Fiddleford. 

He probably would have made some awkward explanation, if Stanford and Manly Dan had not chosen that moment to exit the vehicle. Stanford ran at a jog to the clinic doors, presumably to notify them while Dan circled back to pluck Stanley from the truck bed. Fiddleford hopped down behind them and got the doors. 

Stanley gave Fiddleford another warm look, even as he visibly tensed upon entering the clinic. “You know Fids, I may have been exaggerating when I said I was fine. My leg is busted up pretty bad.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “And that there's an understatement.”

Stanley shrugged. “What can I say? I have my pride. But I suppose if I'm this busted up, I wouldn't mind having you carry me around a few more times.” 

This time, Fiddleford really did blush. Manly Dan scrunched his nose at the almost flirtatious comment, looking as if he were debating on dropping Stanley right where he was. Instead, he dropped him on the convenient bed wheeled in by a nurse while Stanford continued to talk to the receptionist. 

“Well,” Fiddleford coughed as Dan beat a hasty retreat. “Unless you end up in the middle of the woods like this, once will be plenty enough.”

“Really? Maybe I'll have to sneak out then.” Stanley's smile was wide and open, as genuine as it was teasing. 

“Well I'll- you will not be leaving the shack, Stanley Pines. You are going to get treated and stay there safely and not lift a finger until you're better. You always fuss when I so much as stub my toe, so this time I will be taking care of you, you hear me?” 

It was supposed to be a scolding, but it made Stanley's face look pleased and a hint touched rather than sheepish, as Fiddleford was going for. And oh gosh, he had just said he was going to take care of Stanley, didn't that sound embarrassing when put like that? Stanley opened his mouth to reply when he was interrupted.

“I'm trying to fill out paperwork here.” Stanford called in exasperation from across the room. “Can you two please stop flirting?”

They stopped. But it wouldn't be the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of picture it like this: Fiddleford is actually only slightly stronger than Stan in pure heavy lifting, while both are miles ahead of Ford. However, for strength per pound of body weight Fiddleford is way stronger than Stan. I also picture this scenario and realization is sorta what gives Stan his beginning crush on fiddleford.
> 
> Of course, all that being said, Stan could still kick Fiddle's ass in a fight, but Fiddles would at least put up a fight and hit pretty hard. I imagine him being pretty unpredictable in a fist fight as well. 
> 
> Also, I'm leaving it as a one shot for now but I might write a sequel where ford and fiddle both get to be overbearingly protective of stanley who I headcanon as being the most protective over the other two.
> 
> EDIT pff omg i got lee and ford switched around in the end there. fixed it now


End file.
